Volcada
by and her magical cat Roscoe
Summary: COMPLETE. Pam’s got prewedding jitters. Bill’s got a secret. Ralph’s in Miami with Alicia. It’s going to be an interesting Christmas Eve. A BillPam fic. Cont'd from Come Together. Rated for adult situations, violence. Sort for M Rating to see Bonus Chaptr
1. Salida: Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or situations created for TGAH; I am borrowing them purely for entertainment purposes and am making no profit from their use. Thank you to Stephen J. Cannell, the cast, producers, writers, directors, and crew for giving us this wonderful, timeless show and the characters that bring it to life.

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_**Volcada**_

A movement in the Tango. An action by the male partner puts the female off balance resulting in a falling step. If executed properly, the female is held suspended resulting in a beautiful elongated pose. The movement requires the support of a close embrace.

_This story is a sequel to **Come Together, Over Me**_

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_From **The Hit Car**: _

Pam: "You know, sometimes it's hard to believe you live in this century, Bill."

Bill: "That was my idea about you, Davidson."

_------------------_

**Part 1: Salida **

_**Salida** _

The first steps of dancing a tango, or a tango pattern, derived from "¿Salimos a bailar?" (Shall we dance?)

_------------------_

_She let her eyelids flutter closed. She felt his warm breath at her throat, her shoulder, but his lips never touched her skin. _

_She could feel his heat through the thin silk of her robe. She felt her hair stir and knew he was lifting it away from her neck for better access to that sensitive skin. _

_He exhaled a slow, steady pulse of breath across the fine hairs and she shivered. She couldn't wait much longer. She had to feel him against her. Hold him in her hands; know how much he wanted her in return. _

_She felt a tug at her waist and her robe fell open. She knew he could see her excitement in her flushed skin, knew he was watching her breath accelerate, could see her pulse throbbing. She felt him move closer and her stomach trembled. Now, oh, now, she thought, please touch me now. _

"_Now?" he murmured in her ear._

_She could feel the vibration of his deep voice. _

"_Now," she breathed. "If you touch me-"_

"_Here?" he said and she felt his long fingers graze her thigh. _

"_Yes, there," she said. "There." _

"_Are you hot, Davidson?"_

"_Mnnh," she moaned. _

"Pam, Bill was asking if you're hot."

"What?"

Pam's sat bolt upright in the backseat of Bill Maxwell's sedan. Ralph was turned around in the passenger seat, looking at her over the headrest with a curious expression.

I've been doing it again, she thought. Dear God, I've been dreaming about Bill Maxwell again. And he's sitting a foot away.

"I'm fine," she said. "Fine. No problem."

"Are you sure?" Ralph said. "You look flushed."

"She said she's fine," Bill said. "Stop bothering her if she's needs a nap."

"I don't need a nap," she said quickly. "The heater just made me drowsy."

"So you are hot," Ralph said.

"Look," Bill barked, "I'm turning on the air conditioner. Now everybody can shut up about the heat."

"Christmas Eve and he wants me to turn the air on," he muttered.

"I didn't say-" Ralph began.

"Just forget it, Ralph," she said. She tried to give him a sympathetic look, but he was too busy glaring at Bill's ear.

She concentrated on getting her breathing back to normal. Two weeks, she thought. This had been going on for two weeks.

Two weeks since she'd seen that damned picture. She blamed all of it on that stupid picture of Bill hanging out with the Beatles in India back in 1968.

She could still see the image clearly in her mind. The way that Kelly green pullover clung to his taut muscles. The cocky tilt of his head and the controlled power in his pose. It was as though looking at that snapshot had turned a key in her mind. A key she couldn't turn back.

In a single dazzling flash of insight, she'd realized she'd never really seen Bill as a man. And as a man, Bill Maxwell was sexy. Although she still felt a frisson of amazement at the thought, it was true.

When they'd finally gotten back to Ralph's place after dinner that night, it had taken some fancy footwork to convince her fiancée that what had gotten her so flustered was their newly discovered proximity by proxy to the Beatles.

As jealous as Ralph got over completely insignificant things, it would never do for him to know that it was the picture of Bill, looking like a full-color ad for testosterone in a can, that had made her go weak at the knees.

And now she was having fantasies about him. Well, everyone had fantasies. It certainly didn't mean she had any kind of crush on him.

It was the only nearness of the wedding that was making her think strange thoughts about Bill and bed sheets. It was a clear case of pre-wedding jitters.

So why did she feel like she needed to go to confession every time she noticed the way the muscles in his arms bunched under his jacket?

As if he could read her guilty thoughts, Ralph gripped the edge of the passenger seat and turned farther around to face her. His bright blue eyes crinkled with concern.

"I wish you were coming with me," he said.

Pam smiled and patted his hand.

"I know, sweetheart," she said. "It's really okay."

"It's just that with your parents in Hawaii," he said. "I don't want you to be sitting at home alone on Christmas."

"I'll enjoy being in California instead of Minnesota for a change," she said reassuringly. "I'm looking forward to not wearing a parka."

He opened his mouth to respond, but she went on.

"And you'll be back tomorrow night," she said. "We'll have our Christmas then."

"I know, but," he said. "If you came with me to Miami, we could-"

She cut him off.

"I'm not going to make Kevin cope with me and Alicia sniping at each other all day," she said. "Her apartment's too small for us to avoid each other."

"It might not be that bad," he said.

She cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Of course, it would, honey," she said. "We hate each other."

Ralph laughed.

"I know you're right," he said, shaking his head. "But I'm going to miss you."

"And… cut!" Bill barked out from the driver's seat. "Okay, that's the scene. Good work everyone. We'll take a ten minute break and you can take it from the top starting with Ralph's line, 'I wish you were coming.'"

Pam bit back her grin as Ralph turned in his seat and glared at Bill.

"I'm sorry if our lives are interrupting your deep thoughts about the latest in bullet-proof vests, Bill," he said. "This happens to be important."

"Yeah, I thought so, too, the first two times you went through it," Bill said. "But that's the third time you've had that conversation, and it always ends the same way."

"Frankly, Ralph," he went on, "I'm starting to think you're a slow learner."

"And you, Davidson," he said.

She looked up in surprise.

"I can't believe you keep letting him get past the part where he's going to his ex-wife's place instead of neutral territory," Bill said. "Why don't you stop being such a swell and understanding modern woman and haul off and hit him with a frying pan, already?"

"So, Bill," she said slowly. "Can I take it this is a last ditch, desperate attempt to keep Ralph in LA?"

"No," he said, flicking on his blinker and shifting into the passing lane. "I just think you oughta be a little more, you know, unreasonable."

She opened her mouth to respond, but Ralph beat her to it.

"Pam knows she doesn't have any reason to worry," he said. "She knows the only things Alicia and I have in common any more are a mutual distrust and Kevin."

"Yeah, well," Bill said, "As long as you know it."

She saw Ralph take a deep breath and for a moment she thought they were going to break into one of their infamous knock-down, drag-out fights, but to her surprise, Ralph seemed to make a visible effort to unclench.

"Okay, Bill," he said at last. "I'm not doing this right now. It's not the time. This is me changing the subject. So, what are you doing for Christmas, Bill?"

The shoulders of Bill's nutmeg brown suit shifted as he turned the wheel and banked the car onto the exit ramp. To her renewed surprise, Bill actually let it go.

"I usually man the desk," he said, his voice a little gruff. "Give the guys with families the day off."

"There can't be much to do on Christmas," Ralph said.

"Not usually," Bill agreed. "The punks is all nestled, all snug in their beds, with visions of jewel heists dancing in their heads."

"So it's a good time to catch up on paperwork," he went on, braking as he signaled to move into the turning lane for the parking lot.

In the rear view mirror, Pam could see Bill's forehead furrow with concentration as he merged over between two airport limos.

"Well, here's an idea," Ralph said. "Why don't you two do something together while I'm gone?"

The instinct came just an instant too late. Before Pam could turn away, she saw Bill look up. His eyes locked with hers in the rear view mirror. Her stomach did a rapid flip-flop and she dropped her gaze to her lap.

"Uh," they said simultaneously.

Startled, she looked up and saw Bill focused intently on the taillights of the leading limo. In spite of herself, she felt strangely hurt.

"Oh, come on," Ralph said cheerfully. "Think about it. You'll both be on your own. It'd be a good chance to get to know each other better."

Bill cleared his throat.

"Uh, yeah, Ralph," he said. "I, uh, I was being a little, you know…"

"I was lying before," he went on hurriedly. "About not having much to do. I got a lot of paperwork to catch up on."

"We've been busy lately, catching bad guys," he said. "Every time I bring somebody in I gotta write a book about how I found him and what he was doing."

He turned the wheel and angled up into the parking lot.

"That takes a lot of creativity," he said. "I'd be in line for some kinda Pulitzer if anybody knew how much fiction I write."

"And I'm sure the Counselor's got better things to do," he said, "Than keep me company."

His eyes flicked up to the mirror for just an instant, but he turned away again before she could interpret the look she saw there.

"It doesn't sound like it," Ralph said brightly. "You don't have anything important to do, do you, honey?"

"Um, no," she said slowly, racking her brain for some reasonable excuse. Only one was at the top of her mind.

"Although," she said, "I was thinking about spending the evening making some room at your house."

He looked at her curiously.

"For when I move in for good," she added.

"You were going to do that tonight?" he said.

She shrugged.

"I thought I'd start on it," she said. "But I suppose..."

"Don't worry about that tonight," he said, shaking his head. "I'll help you when I get back."

He turned back to Bill.

"Well, it sounds like a scenario to me," Ralph said. "Bill, you can take the night off from paperwork. And Pam-"

He looked back over the seat.

"You can have a nice dinner with Bill."

He was giving her a vaguely pleading look. It said, "Come on, it's one night. It won't kill you."

It was true, she knew. It was just one night. She was a mature woman, not a hormone-crazed teenager.

And, she reasoned, spending the whole evening with Bill was certain to accomplish one thing. There was no doubt in her mind that several hours of concentrated conversation with the sexist, egotistical, infuriating Bill Maxwell would banish her ridiculous fantasies for good.

Particularly the one where he was reclining in her bed; his long, muscular legs stretched out on the sheets, gazing at her with laughing eyes and wearing nothing but that big, beautiful grin.

She took a deep breath.

"Okay," she said. "Dinner sounds… nice."

Bill was turning into a parking space.

"Yeah," he echoed. "Sounds real, uh, nice. Don't worry about a thing, kid."

He glanced over at Ralph. "I'll take good care of her."

Pam refused to let herself start thinking the thoughts those words conjured up. But she did anyway.

---------------

"Well, he was right about one thing," she said, pitching her voice above the din as they followed Bill through the airport terminal, "That Federal license plate came in handy for parking."

Ralph sidestepped a mother pushing a doublewide stroller.

"Yeah," he said. "It's only going to take you guys an hour to get out of the parking lot instead of three."

She laughed.

"That's okay," she said. "I'll think of it as more quality time."

Ralph shot her a grateful grin.

"Thanks for doing this," he said. "I expect he'd normally work late and go home to a TV dinner."

They dodged around a red-haired woman wheeling a suitcase that was much too large for carry-on luggage.

"Hey," he said, "I'm going to run ahead and check in. There's probably a line. I'll meet you at the gate."

"Go on," she said, landing a light pat on the seat of his khakis.

He trotted ahead and his butter-blond curls were soon lost to sight in the crush of travelers crisscrossing the terminal.

She didn't make an effort to catch up to Bill and he didn't seem inclined to slow down. Still, there was little danger of losing him in the crowd.

It wasn't so much that he was tall or broad shouldered, she thought, although he was both. It was the way he seemed to take up more than his share of space.

No one jostled him. No one stepped into his path, causing him to break his long, easy stride. It was like watching a nature documentary. All the other cats knew to stay a safe distance from the alpha lion.

Lions. She shook her head.

She was beginning to look forward to dinner. Once this evening was over, she was sure, there'd be no more thoughts of Bill Maxwell and lions.

Things would go back to normal. Or as normal as anything could be with a guy who snacked on dog biscuits.

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-continued-

**el Tango de Los Angeles **

(Tango of the Angels)


	2. Salida: Chapter 2

A half hour later, they stood at the departure gate. Ralph was gripping his overnight bag with one hand. His other arm was around her waist.

"You're sure I didn't rope you into this thing with Bill," Ralph said softly.

He had his thumb hooked under the hem of her heavy oatmeal-colored sweater and she felt him stroke the small of her back in slow, steady circles that made her shiver.

She rested a hand on his chest and played with one of the buttons on his oxford shirt.

"Don't be silly," she said. "You're right; it's one dinner. We probably won't kill each other. Not before desert, anyway."

He chuckled and nuzzled her hair. She enjoyed the light friction of his cheek against hers.

"It's weird," he murmured. "I thought he would try harder to talk me out of going. I wonder why he didn't?"

She wrinkled her nose.

"Sudden attack of acute empathy?" she said. "His body probably didn't know how to fight it. I'm sure he's forming antibodies against it as we speak."

She felt his grin against her cheek.

"One of these days," he said, his breath tickling her ear. "You two are really going to have to learn to get along."

"We get along fine," she said. "Just not with each other."

He laughed and she patted his lean muscled chest.

"Do you know where you're going once you get there?" she said. "Have you got the address of the hotel?"

"Oh," he said. "Didn't I tell you? When I talked to Alicia yesterday, she insisted I was going to stay with her."

Pam felt herself stiffen. She leaned back to look in his eyes.

"Did she?" she said carefully.

"Yeah," he said. "She said something about having a heart to heart after Kevin goes to bed."

Ralph shrugged.

"Probably wants to tell me all about the new guy she's seeing. Fernando or Lorenzo or something. I can't imagine why she still wants to make me jealous."

Maybe because she's a scheming harpy, Pam thought.

"I can't imagine either," she said. "You could always tell her you're too tired from your trip. She can use the phone if she's that desperate to talk."

"It's no big deal." Ralph said, shrugging. "Besides, if you can spend the night with Bill, I can spend the night with Alicia."

She blinked. That, she thought, was definitely not how she would have phrased it.

"Well, don't let her keep you up too late," she said weakly.

"I'll be asleep and dreaming of you before Santa comes, I promise," he said, grinning. "I wish you were go-"

She grinned and gave him a gentle shove.

"Don't start that again," she said. "Have fun and remember to give Kevin my love."

She glanced down at his bag.

"You've got the present?" she said.

Ralph let go of her waist and reached into his bag. He pulled out a corner of the gold-wrapped box.

"Right here," he said, "Oh, and I've got my present, too."

He tucked the package back and pulled out a roll of bright Kelly green fabric. He shook it open and held up a v-neck pullover sweater.

Pam was suddenly acutely aware of Bill standing a few feet away.

"Ralph," she said in a slightly strangled voice, "I don't think you'll need that in Miami."

"But it's great," Ralph said. "I'm going to wear it a lot. Hey, Bill!"

Pam felt a sudden rush of cold panic before Ralph started to stuff the sweater back into his bag. She glanced out of the corner of her eye and saw Bill, fortunately, seemed to be absorbed in studying the departures board.

"Bill," Ralph called again, "I've got to go."

Bill turned suddenly, looking as he'd been startled out of a daydream.

"I just wanted to tell you two to have fun tonight," Ralph said. "Show her a good time."

"You bet, kid," Bill said easily. "You just relax and let somebody else do the flying for a change."

"Right," Ralph said cheerfully. "That'll be a relief."

He turned to back to Pam.

"Love you, sweetheart," he said and gave her a quick kiss on the lips, then leaned away and adjusted the bag on his shoulder.

An image flashed in Pam's mind of Alicia, standing at the arrivals gate in Miami and the kiss she'd have waiting for Ralph. On a sudden impulse she reached out and took his face between her hands. She pulled him close and felt his mouth open against hers.

She traced her tongue along the curve of his bottom lip then took it gently in her teeth. She felt his sharp intake of breath and turned her head to deepen the kiss.

When she stepped back a moment later, she let her hands fall to his chest. His heart thrummed against her fingertips. His blue eyes were wide and feverishly bright.

"See you tomorrow night," she whispered.

"R-right," he said and licked his lips. "Uh."

He glanced up at the departure board. "Or I could-"

She laughed and gave him a gentle push.

"Get on the plane," she said.

He was still looking over his shoulder at her when he turned the corner on the gangway and disappeared.

She felt Bill move up beside her.

"Good one, Davidson," he said. "Alicia's going to have a tough time competing with that memory."

She rolled her eyes.

"I'm not the slightest bit worried about Ralph being alone with Alicia," she said.

"Not now," he answered pleasantly.

"Not ever," she said, and turned on her heel.

"So," she said, setting a rapid pace through the departure lounge. "What's for dinner, Bill? What's your favorite place that serves fried things in little plastic baskets?"

"Listen, Davidson," he said, his ringing voice carrying easily over the hubbub. "You don't gotta keep me company. Why don't you go home and take a bubble bath or paint your toenails pink or something?

She glanced up in surprise. He looked down and met her eyes, then turned his attention back to the long, tile-lined breezeway that connected the terminals.

"What?" he said. "Don't you girls do that kinda stuff when the fella's away?"

"Fella?" she said.

"Besides," he went on as if she hadn't spoken. "I wasn't kidding about the paperwork. I'm up to my neck. Carlisle seems to think if he gives me enough to fill out he's going to catch me at something. Let's just scratch it at the starting post. I won't tell Ralph if you don't."

She felt her irritation begin to rise. She reached out and grabbed his arm. He skidded to a stop beside her and looked down with a startled expression. Despite herself, she noticed that, as tall as she was, she had to lean back to look him in the eye.

"You listen, Maxwell," she said, fighting to keep her voice level, "The 'fella' seems to think it's important we spend time together and I'm willing to make the effort. I think you can, too. It's just one night."

His eyes narrowed and his mouth drew down in a tight frown. For a moment, she thought they were going to have a yelling match in the middle of the airport.

Then he inhaled sharply and seemed to come to a decision. To her surprise, he flashed a tight smile.

"Fine, Davidson," he said evenly. "You win. I'll take you to dinner."

He turned and started down the tiled breezeway in such long, ground-eating strides that she had to run to catch up.

"Wait a minute," she said, drawing level with him, "You're not exactly taking-"

"Nah, you're right," he said as she drew level with him, "Ralph expects me to show you a good time. That's what I'm gonna do. Now, this place we're going-"

"Hold on," she said, trying to keep from panting with the exertion of matching his pace. "Why do you get to pick the restaurant?"

He shot her a look.

"Because, Davidson," he said patiently. "I'm the guy."

When she only stared at him with wide-eyed disbelief, he glanced down.

"What?" he said, eyebrows raised.

She cocked an eyebrow in return.

"Oh," he said dismissively. "I'm not supposed to say that, right? Jeez, catch a guy trying to be chivalrous."

She snorted.

"That's not chivalry, Bill," she said. "It's just medieval."

"Fine," he said, "I'm not picking the restaurant because I'm the guy. Even though I am. I'm picking it because I've got a kind of a Christmas Eve tradition."

"Really," she said, "An extra helping of hush puppies at Cap'n Jack's Fish Shack?"

"I'm hurt, sweetheart," he said. "Really hurt. You don't think I know any restaurants with tables?"

"I'm sure you do," she said. "I just think they've all got 'and Grille' in the name."

"That's where you're wrong," he said. "This place is fancy enough, even for you."

"In fact," he went, "I'm willing to bet, after tonight you'll be begging me to take you again."

She tripped over her own feet. She barely managed to catch herself before sprawling headlong into a family in matching plaid sweaters.

Bill turned around and gave her a curious look.

"Lose your place, Davidson?" he said. "It's left-right, left-right."

She narrowed her eyes.

"I'm going to ignore that," she said a little breathlessly. "But I want to get this straight. If I like the dinner, you win. If I say we would've been better off with Cap'n Jack's, I win?

"Bingo," he said.

"Deal," she said and stuck out her hand.

His long fingers closed around hers. His palm was surprisingly warm and soft.

"So let's talk stakes," he said, releasing her hand.

He stared into space for a moment, apparently considering the options. She tried not to notice the gold flecks in his hazel eyes.

"Okay, here's the scenario," he said, and grinned as she cocked an eyebrow.

"Winner picks up the check for dinner," he said. "Loser has to make desert."

She frowned.

"That doesn't sound right," she said. "Shouldn't the loser buy dinner?"

He snorted.

"You've gotta pay attention, Davidson. I said the loser 'makes' desert, not 'buys' desert."

"And," he added. "It'll be tiramisu."

"Not if I win," she said. "I like lemon cake."

He rolled his eyes.

"Spare me," he said. "It's tiramisu. Do we need to stop at the market on the way to your place?"

Pam felt her stomach do a rapid flip-flop.

"Why are we going to my place?" she asked slowly.

"So you can change," he said.

"Change?" she said, more surprised than she would have expected by the idea.

"Yeah. " he said. "Your clothes."

He cocked an eyebrow and cast a look down her frame. She was suddenly acutely aware of the washer-worn state of her faded jeans and chunky oatmeal-colored sweater.

"You look real cute and comfy there," he said. "But I know how you girls are. If I don't tell you to dress up now, you're gonna be mad later."

"Dress up, huh?" she said, cocking an eyebrow in return. "In that case, I'm impressed already."

She stepped out into the terminal, saying, "What are we talk-"

Her words broke off in a sharp gasp as his arm shot out and grabbed her around the waist. She felt herself lifted and jerked back as if weightless.

A skycap on a fully loaded baggage trolley shot across her path so close she could feel the breeze as it passed.

She was set her back on her feet and she stood, breathing heavily. Bill was at her shoulder again, looking down with a curious expression.

"'I'm starting to worry about you, Davidson," he said. "You're supposed to be too smart to step in front of a speeding car."

He started walking again, covering the ground in rangy strides. She stood still for a moment then, with a start, set off after him, trotting to catch up.

He was saying something about a "sequence," but she didn't try to follow his words. She couldn't hear anything but the same thought repeating in her head.

He lifted me right off the ground with one arm, she thought. And it was effortless.

At that moment, spending the evening with Bill Maxwell sounded like the mental equivalent of wearing a sandpaper shirt over a third degree sunburn. Unfortunately, she was highly aware that her mind and her body weren't on speaking terms at the moment. And her body had its own opinions.

-----------------

The ride to her apartment was filled with tense half-conversations.

"So, your folks are in Hawaii?"

"Yes, Oahu. Have you been there?"

"Nah. We got plenty of palm trees right here."

And so on.

This was so diametrically opposed to the evening she had planned it was like a Folger's coffee commercial as done on Saturday Night Live. She could almost hear Dan Ackroyd as the smarmy announcer saying:

"We've replaced this woman's bath water with a tub full of live bees. Let's see if she notices…"

It wasn't until they were riding up in the elevator to her apartment, that an important question occurred to her. She turned to Bill, standing placidly beside her.

"Do you know if this place is open on Christmas Eve?" she said.

"Yep," he said without hesitation. "Been there before on Christmas Eve. And lots of other Eves. I go pretty often."

She saw him shoot her a sidelong glance and look away quickly.

"Uh, there's just one thing-" he said.

She held up a hand.

"Wait, let me guess," she said. "They know you as 'Mad Dog Maxwell'?"

She saw his mouth quirk in a grin.

"Oh, no, it's not 'Maxine' is it?" she said.

He snorted.

"Let's see, you've been forbidden to ever darken their door again?" she said.

"No, least not yet," he said, "In fact, they seem to like to see me."

She made a little 'o' of mock surprise.

"Imagine that!" she said.

He snorted.

"Yeah, hard to picture, I know."

"Well, then what's left?" she said and snapped her fingers. "It's a biker bar and you have to have a tattoo to get in!"

"Hey, you guessed it," he said. "Now, you have a choice of a snake or a flaming skull, only you don't get to choose where they put it."

She laughed and the elevator made a "bing" sound and slid to a stop. The doors slipped open and they stepped out into the carpeted hall.

"You know, I should just tell you what the place is," Bill said as he followed her up the hall to her door.

"No!" she said quickly, "Don't do that. I want to be surprised."

She felt in her purse for her keys.

"Okay," he said. "I won't tell you what it is, but there's one thing you do need to know."

"Well," she said, slotting her key into the lock. "It looks like I'm not going to guess, so you'd better tell me."

She stepped into the apartment and flicked on the light switch.

"Sorry about the mess," she said, dropping her keys on the console table by the door as she inclined her head to a stack of boxes against the wall. "I'm starting to pack already."

When he didn't answer, she turned around. He was standing just inside the doorway surveying the room with wide eyes. She followed his traveling glance as it passed over her lacquered coffee table, the slubbed silk drapes, the color coordinated landscapes.

"Have you never been here before, Bill?" she said suddenly.

"Uh, no," he said. "Uh, uh."

"Are you sure?" she said frowning. "You must have been here at least once."

"No," he said slowly, staring at the bookcase by the kitchen with wide eyes. "I'd definitely remember the, uh, big gold cow there."

He blinked and gave his head a little shake.

"Uh, didn't you have a house?" he said, continuing his survey of the room.

"Not for a while," she said, moving into the kitchen and switching on the light. "I sold it when Ralph and I got engaged."

"Besides, the attic leaked," she said under her breath.

She looked back out into the living room and saw him peering around the floor.

"What are you looking for?" she called.

"The, uh," he cleared his throat. "The cat. Is it- he around?"

"You mean Lefty?" she said from the doorway.

He looked up.

"Yeah, good old Lefty," he said, his jaw tightening. "Is he here?"

She shook her head.

"No, I couldn't bring him to the apartment. I gave him to my niece."

"Oh, That's too bad," he said. Pam saw his shoulders relax as he sat down on the edge of the sofa.

"Right," she said. "It's sweet of you to pretend."

"Do you want a drink?" she said, moving back into the kitchen.

"Yeah, I think we got time for one," he said. "Bourbon. No ice. Thanks."

She pulled two highball glasses from the dishwasher and carried them through to the bar. Bill was still sitting on the edge of the sofa, hands hanging loosely between his knees, gazing out the wide picture window that lined one wall of the living room.

"Hey," she said, setting the glasses down on the glass bar top, "About my outfit…"

Bill looked up suddenly, as if startled out of a light trance. For just an instant, the tightly controlled tension that was his normal state had evaporated. His face was perfectly open. In light of his clear gaze, her breath caught in her throat. Then the moment passed.

His face set in the classic, Bill Maxwell, tight-jawed, semi-belligerent expression she knew so well.

"What about it?" he said.

"Exactly how dressed up do you mean?" she said, carrying over his drink. "Are we talking skirt and blouse or taffeta ball gown?"

Bill took a long sip and gave a satisfied sigh. Then he looked up with wide, innocent eyes.

"Got anything with sequins?" he said.

----------------

- continued -

**el Tango de Los Angeles **

(Tango of the Angels)


	3. Cadencia: Chapter 3

PART 2:

_**Cadencia **_

A deep check and replace, usually led by the man as he steps forward. Useful for avoiding collisions. May also refer to a subtle shifting of weight from foot to foot in place and in time with the music done by the man before beginning a dance to give the lady the rhythm he intends to dance and to ensure that she will begin with him on the correct foot.

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Pam thought of herself as a good girl. Not an angel, maybe, but your basic good girl. This was not the dress of a good girl.

She ran her hands slowly down the bodice. In the mirror, her reflection confirmed what her hands felt. This dress made a promise.

This dress, with its nipped waist, its plunging neckline, the scattering of sequins across the slightly flared skirt that ended more than slightly above the knee… this dress whispered, "Take me off and I'll show you what you really want to see."

The two slender straps were clearly there to underline the promise. They kept slipping down her arms as if demonstrating the dress's desire to find its natural state: in a heap on the floor by the bed, under a set of French underwear.

And then there was the color. Not just red. This was Red. This was the Red of smeared lipstick and manicured fingernails digging into muscular backs.

This was the dress of a woman who would lean in close to a man and murmur, "You know how to whistle don't you…"

This dress could eat her for breakfast. And she had to wear it. There was no way out.

After her blustery response, "Sequins? Of course, I have sequins. Wait there," how could she walk out now and say, "I'm sorry, Bill, I realized I only have one dress with sequins and it screams, 'Do me!' so loud I'd never be able to hear you over the noise. So I'm wearing this timid pantsuit instead."

She jumped as Bill's voice rang out from the living room.

"If you're gonna be a lot longer, honey," he called. "I'm gonna turn on the sports news, 'kay?"

There was a pause, and…

"Where's your TV?"

"I'm coming, Bill," she called back. "Just one more minute!"

She did a half-turn and watched the way the skirt swirled. She heard the gentle susurration of the fine crepe sliding over the satin. Even the sound of the dress said, "sex."

She bit her lip. She couldn't stall any more. She'd just have to brazen it out. Pretend it was a perfectly ordinary dress. If she just acted normal, Bill wouldn't have any reason to think she was wearing it for him. Which she wasn't.

She took a deep breath and patted her hair. The loose up-do was a good choice, she decided. Her thick, dark hair was piled in upswept curls. Tendrils spiraled down here and there, tickling her neck and cheek.

She looked down. She'd chosen sheer stockings. They seemed mildly more conservative than black. Now she realized they made her legs look as if they were bare, with just a hint of shine. Too late to change, she told herself firmly.

She sat on the edge of the bed to slip on her shoes.

The laddered black bands running up the front gave her a little trouble. It took a moment to figure out the pattern of straps and snug them into place. The heels were ridiculously high, she realized as she stood carefully, finding her balance.

She glanced at the mirror and was surprised to feel a bright flare of pleasure. She didn't look like a good girl. But she didn't look half bad.

She was sorry now she hadn't worn the dress back in September when she bought it for the annual Golden Gavel Dinner. The blue sheath she'd worn instead had been nice and elegant, but nothing special. Not like this.

Well, she thought, she'd chickened out back in September, but she wasn't going to chicken out now. She opened the bedroom door and stepped through.

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Bill was sitting on the sofa where she'd left him, perched on the edge as if afraid to make a dent in the silky upholstery. He had an Architectural Digest on one knee and was peering at it with a bemused expression.

He lifted his glass and looked up as she walked in. The glass froze halfway to his mouth. She actually saw his breathing accelerate.

Seeing his eyes widen, his mouth drop open, the flutter in his throat as he swallowed, was all strangely intoxicating. There was something very appealing about making a good looking man sit up and take notice. Even if that man was Bill Maxwell.

Right now it felt a little like revenge.

She knew it was just the dress he was seeing. Bill and the dress were having a conversation in the subsonic range shared by dogs and intrigued human males. She was just the messenger.

Still, it was… fun.

"Will this do?" she said, and she gave her hips a little swish, making the skirt rustle.

"Ah, do what?" Bill said, his eyes glassy.

She felt her smile widen as he blinked and inhaled sharply.

"Ah, no, I mean- yeah," he said, dropping the magazine on the corner of the coffee table. "It's, ah, it's a n- good dress, Davidson."

He took another long pull at his drink and moved to put the glass down the magazine. He must have misjudged because he set the glass down on the edge hanging over the carpet. His hand shot out to grab it, but the glass had accelerated from a slow slide to a tumble and hit the carpet with a thud. Dark liquor trickled out on the cream-colored carpet.

Bill bolted to his feet as Pam turned and snatched a towel off the bar.

"Damn," he said, "Ah, sorry, Counselor. I knew I'd break somethin' in here. Damn."

Pam noted with some surprise the return to "Counselor" even as she bent to swab at the spreading spot on the rug.

"It's okay, Bill, really," she said, "It'll come – oh!"

He reached to take the towel from her hand when she reached toward the floor. The sharp sound of their heads banging together was as surprising as the actual impact.

She straightened too fast, losing her balance on her impossibly high heels. She felt herself falling backwards then stopped abruptly in mid-air. She looked up to see Bill's worried face hovering over her own.

"Ah, jeez," he was saying, "Are you okay? How many fingers?"

She felt one of the arms around her waist let go and Bill's hand appeared in front of her eyes.

"Uh, two," she said dazedly and reached up to still the wiggling fingers.

"Stop that," she said. "I'm fine, I just-"

Suddenly, the reality of her position asserted itself. She was leaning back over Bill's arm, holding his other hand in her own while he bent low over her…

"So," she said, a little breathlessly. "Shall we dance?"

He broke into a wide smile.

"You're all right," he said, lifting her to her feet.

"Your smart aleck bone is intact."

"I like that," she said, matching his grin. "First you knock me down, then you insult me. "

"We always hurt the ones we love, Davidson," he said. "But funny you should say that."

"What do you mean?" she said, pausing in the act of smoothing her skirt.

"Well," said Bill, glancing down at her high heels, "Let's just say, I hope those nifty little shoes are more comfortable than they look."

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They stood in the wide entry room of a converted storefront in West Hollywood. Evening sunlight angled in through lacy white curtains, weaving a dappled pattern on the checkerboard floor.

Outside was a mixed bag of working class shops. Across the street, a hot doggery stood between an auto parts store and a caterer called the Cannoli Kings.

Inside the hum of holiday traffic was muffled by oak wood paneling and heavy tapestries. As Bill helped her off with her black satin wrap, Pam read the gold script etched into the hostess stand.

"'Abrazo,'" she said, sounding out the word. "I've never heard of it. Is it Mexican?"

"Not exactly," Bill said. "More Argentine. But other things, too. Roxana, Natal Feliz, honey."

Pam followed Bill's gaze to the inner door. A petite olive-skinned girl drifted in on the sound of a high, sweet Spanish guitar.

"Guiomar," she said, beaming a smile that lit her delicate features. "Natal Feliz, meu amor."

Her lustrous brown eyes turned to Pam and widened. She gave Bill a sly smile.

"E esta ela?" she said, fluttering long, sable eyelashes.

Bill coughed loudly and she was surprised to see his face flush.

"Recebeu uma boca grande, Roxie," he muttered, laying a hand on the girl's slim shoulder and gently turning her back toward the door. "Table for two. Pronto."

The girl's bright laughter mingled with the music from the next room.

"Pronto, Guiomar," she said, scooping two menus from the cubby under the hostess stand.

"Se você por favor," she said, giving Pam a warm smile as she gestured to the inner door.

Pam glanced at Bill. He stood back, motioning her forward. She stepped between them through the door.

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Pam surveyed the small dishes and condiment bowls scattered across their table. Dinner had been amazing. It was simple food, simply prepared. But the tiny portions, so perfectly spiced and garnished, when eaten in mix-and-match combinations had created a kaleidoscopic array of flavors. Between the food and the rich red wine and the muted light from the gold and glass chandeliers overhead, she was feeling a little drowsy.

She gazed down the long hall. The best part of the dinner, she decided, was that from their table near the back, she could see the entire dance floor.

Pam watched the swirling skirts spin to the accompaniment of the rapid tat-tat of high heels. The Spanish guitars changed tempo and the dancers pivoted into a new combination. One couple executed a complicated interweaving step, their feet rapping out a machine-gun rhythm. Another couple in matching royal blue outfits separated and came together in a fierce embrace.

On the other side of the dance floor, a tall, slender woman in a black beaded gown traced a wide circle with the toe of her shoe. Her wavy hair was a dusky auburn. It hung in a loose chignon at the nape of her neck that swayed in syncopated rhythm with her movements.

Her partner, a raven-haired young man in a loose-fitting red shirt, paced closer and with a sudden movement hooked an arm around her waist, dragging her forward across the floor. The couple passed below a tightly focused spotlight and the woman's dress sparkled like a black diamond.

Bill snorted.

"Come on," he said, under his breath. "Get the basics down first."

Pam shot him a glance. His lips were pursed in concentration as he watched the dancers' tightly controlled movements.

When Pam looked at the couple again, she saw the woman's ankle wobble as she struck down with her forward foot, halting their motion across the floor. Bill hissed and gritted his teeth.

"I guess she has to start somewhere," Pam said, pitching her voice above the trilling guitars.

"Nah, not her" Bill answered, frowning as the couple paraded back across the floor. "She's a pro. It's the punk she's with. He's showing off. Trying to. He's gonnna break her leg in a minute if she doesn't take over."

"She can do that?" Pam said. "I thought she was just supposed to relax and get dragged around the floor."

Bill barked a laugh.

"Keep watching, sweetheart."

She looked over and saw him break into a grin.

"There she goes."

Pam turned back to the floor and saw the woman in black stop and perform a complicated series of toe flicks around her partner's legs. As she watched, Pam saw it effectively kept him immobile for a few seconds. When they moved again, it was with a precision they hadn't shown before.

"Now if he pays attention," Bill said, "She'll show him everything he needs to know."

He began to call out the names and translations of the various movements as the couple criss-crossed the floor. She looked over and was startled to see his face had the same clear, open expression she'd glimpsed in her living room.

His wide eyes lit up and he gave a low whistle.

"Yeah, nice combination," he said. "Did you see that-"

He glanced over and their eyes met. She looked away quickly

"Uh, so, you done there," he said. "Can Luis come clear away the wreckage, or do you wanna eat the plates, too?"

She laughed.

"I'm done," she said.

On cue, their young waiter approached and bent over the table. His brown hands stacked the plates in even rows.

Bill cleared his throat.

"So, let's hear it," he said. "Did I win?"

She smiled, nodding as Luis indicated the relish plate at her elbow.

"You win, Bill," she said. "I'm impressed."

She inclined her head toward the dance floor.

"Dinner and a show," she said. "And here I was expecting two of Pinky's finest hot dogs. It looks like I owe you some homemade tiramisu."

"Of course," she said. "You've had my cooking before. Are you sure you won't just let me buy desert?"

"I'm shocked, Davidson," he said. "I never took you for a welsher. If you can't make tiramisu, we can take it out in trade somehow."

Fortunately, at that point the music ended. She turned away to hide her sudden blush and clapped enthusiastically as the musicians set their instruments down on their chairs and migrated in a body toward the bar.

The dancers cleared the floor more slowly, drifting toward tables and coming together in small groups as if the sudden lack of music had drained their strength. She noticed the woman in black disengage herself from the young man in red. He looked reluctant to let her go, but she lifted his hand from her arm with a firm gesture. She laughed as she did it, but Pam was sure she saw tension behind her smile.

The young man stared with an unsettling intensity in his coffee-dark eyes as she paced gracefully away from the dance floor. Pam noticed with some surprise that the woman was not as old as she'd seemed at first. Despite the gravity with which she carried herself, her face was as beautiful and unlined as a statue by Verrocchio.

Pam was so absorbed by the woman's beauty, she didn't realize she was walking straight toward their table until a moment before she arrived.

She gave Pam a polite nod, but when her eyes turned to Bill, her face lit with a brilliant smile.

"Guiomar," she said and it sounded like a purr. Her voice had a surprisingly rich, deep quality, like chocolate liqueur.

Bill rose from the table at the same instant.

"Anjeline," he said, pronouncing it Ahn-helayna with flawless inflection. Pam noticed his sudden sharp focus with some surprise.

Anjeline bent toward him and brushed his cheek with hers. The two stood touching for a long moment before Bill seemed to come back to himself with a start and released her hand.

"Anjeline," he said in a strangely husky voice, "I want you to meet-"

"Pamela," Anjeline said with a faint accent on the second syllable that made the name sound exotic.

Pam blinked and gave Bill a curious glance. He was staring fixedly at the dance floor.

She realized Anjeline was bending toward her, extending a slender hand. Pam half-rose, feeling suddenly as awkward as a little girl caught playing dress up. She was keenly aware of her bright, red dress and the straps that had once again slipped from her shoulders.

Anjeline's hand touched hers and she was surprised to feel warmth radiating from it. She noticed then the light sheen of perspiration on Anjeline's skin.

"You dance beautifully," Pam said as she sat back.

Bill had dragged a vacant chair over from another table. Anjeline sat gracefully, crossing her ankles modestly under the chair.

"You are very kind," Anjeline said, with a faint smile. "And you are just as beautiful as-"

Bill coughed.

"Uh, Anjeline," he said, "I brought Pam along as a favor to her boy- uh, fiancée."

Pam felt a twinge of anger.

"Yes, Bill's been saddled with me for the evening," she said. "But it's almost over."

"Yeah, that's about right," Bill said, ignoring her sharp look. "I'd kinda like to take her home if you think the boy's are going to get rowdy tonight."

Anjeline shifted in her chair, adjusting the drape of her sparkling gown.

"The good boys will soon be leaving to take their mamas to massa de vigília," she said. "The bad boys…

She shrugged and Pam wondered if she imagined a slight tension in the woman's slender shoulders.

"The bad boys will do what they do," she said. This time, Pam was sure she saw a veiled look pass between the two.

"In that case," Bill said, "Maybe I'd better take the Counselor here and-"

"Oh, Guiomar," Anjeline said, laying her pale hand on his arm. "Surely you won't leave without a milonga."

She inclined her head toward the dance floor where the band was reassembling.

"Rufino would not concentrate on his steps," she said. "He had so much on his mind…"

She looked at Bill from under her long eyelashes.

"He is one who will not say his rosario in the catedral this evening," she said.

To Pam's surprise, Bill's mouth set in a hard line. He gave a sharp nod.

"Alright, sweetheart," he said, "We'll show 'em how it's done."

Pam felt a sharp stab of irritation. Not only were they acting like they were alone at the table, she thought, Bill was actually going to leave her here while he danced with Anjeline.

As she struggled against the urge to call him a pig in front of this wholly elegant woman, she noticed he was staring over Anjeline's shoulder.

She followed his gaze and her eyes found the young man in red just as his searching glance landed on Anjeline. In an instant, his look of curiosity transformed into a fixed glare.

She heard Bill saying something in a lowered voice to Anjeline, but the only word she caught was "Amigo."

The young man, Rufino, she guessed, was fighting through the tide of dancers drifting back toward the wide wooden dance floor. She saw Rufino's hard stare shift to Bill and his eyes widened before his mouth set in a scowl. Then his shifting gaze fell on her.

Pam's stomach gave a reflexive lurch. Rufino's stare was snakelike in its menace, but it wasn't as frightening as his smile.

As his eyes shifted, taking in her hair, her dress, he bared his teeth in a grin that was feral in its intensity.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Anjeline give a swift wave at the corner of the room, but she couldn't look away from Rufino's hard eyes.

"Rapido," Bill hissed beside her and she felt another body move up to the table.

With relief she turned away from the approaching Rufino and looked up to find a beautiful young man staring down at her.

His perfectly arched lips curled in a raffish grin that lit his brown-gold eyes.

"Minha Senhora, chamo-me Nicolas," he murmured in a voice that sounded like honey tasted. "Dance comigo?"

He held out a graceful hand, the color of caramel creme, and she was startled to see the gold flash of a wedding band.

"That's a great idea," Bill said. "You two have fun."

His chair made a loud scraping noise as he pushed it back. He was on his feet when Rufino reached the table.

Pam looked back and forth between them. The idea of lions popped back into her mind as she saw the two men size one another up through narrowed eyes. The naked hostility in Rufino's eyes was not as startling as the fact of seeing the same expression in Bill's.

She half-expected the gun he no doubt had securely tucked into the shoulder holster under his coat to appear in his hand at any moment.

She realized the young man at her elbow was still waiting patiently.

Pam was confident her Foxtrot was one of the best at the Golden Gavel Dinner, and she could Electric Slide with the best of them. But there was no way she was going to embarrass herself by trying to Tango in front of all these incredible dancers. And Bill Maxwell.

She opened her mouth to decline Nicolas' invitation when Bill spoke.

"Nico," he said, his hard stare never leaving Rufino, "Take good care of Pamela. She's my responsibility tonight."

Pam stared at him. Responsibility? What was he doing, she wondered. Was he showing off for Anjeline? She had better things to do than be part of Bill's macho posturing.

When Rufino answered, his low voice was a surprising contrast to the ferocity of his expression.

"Come, Maxwell," he said, pronouncing the 'x' with the soft susurration of the Hispanic pronunciation, "A woman so beautiful deserves the best."

"Yeah, but unfortunately," Bill said. "I'm already dancing the next one with Anjeline."

"Very amusing," Rufino said, baring his teeth in an imitation of a smile. "A sense of humor must be a great benefit in one's old age."

"I'm guessing," Bill said. "That's not something you'll ever have to worry about, pal."

Rufino's fierce smile widened, showing more straight, white teeth.

"I would discuss that with you further, homem velho. Perhaps later. Now," he said, inclining his head toward Pam. "The lady awaits."

Bill's mouth contracted in a tight frown.

"What she awaits," he said, "Is for you to get on your bike and clear off so the rest of us can get started thinking of you as a bad memory."

She saw his hand slip around Anjeline's waist as he moved to step forward and at that moment, she decided she'd had enough of his swaggering attitude.

"Actually," she said, rising to her feet, "What the lady would like is a dance."

She turned to Nico, standing beside her.

"Perhaps the next one?" she said, with a smile.

She didn't miss the quick look of confusion he shot at Bill, but she didn't give Bill the satisfaction of looking for his reaction. She turned to Rufino.

"Go easy with me," she said, trying to ignore the predatory gleam in his eye. "I'm new at this."

He gave her a little bow.

"You honor me," he said, extending his hand. "But I'm afraid dancing with me will spoil you for other partners."

This time she couldn't miss Bill's reaction. In the corner of her eye, she saw him stiffen and heard his intake of breath, but as she put her hand in Rufino's and turned toward the dance floor, she saw Anjeline lay a hand against his chest to hold him back.

For some reason, the gesture infuriated her. She gave Rufino her best smile as they turned toward the dance floor.

"I'm sure it will be an education," she said.

She lost track of Bill and Anjeline as Rufino led her through the press of couples to the floor. His hand was large, and unpleasantly coarse. She felt the ridges of several scars under her fingers.

The first coruscating notes from the band sounded and the couples around her seemed to spark to life. Hips swayed, arms raised, and here and there a heel tapped on the wooden floor.

When they reached the center of the floor, Rufino slowed, causing her to turn toward him. He pulled her close and she could feel the hard bulk of his chest against hers. He took the hand she had placed lightly on his shoulder and lowered it to his waist. His back felt hot and damp through the light silk of his red shirt.

She looked up into his heavy lidded eyes and knew she had made a very big mistake.

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- continued-

**el Tango de Los Angeles **

(Tango of the Angels)


	4. Cadencia: Chapter 4

His pupils were so dilated that his eyes looked black.

Before she could think of a way to extricate herself his hips began to move and she had no choice but to move with him. They fell into a slow, steady rhythm, swaying in a small box step.

One dance, she thought. One dance and I can go back to the table and wait for Bill like a good girl.

Rufino bent his head close to her ear. She smelled the faintly acrid scent of perspiration mixed with the heavy musk of his cologne. His breath was hot against her skin.

"I will show you the Tango, princesa" he murmured in her ear, "And later, I will show you more."

She tried to give a light laugh and was dismayed to hear it come out as a choked gasp as he pulled her closer still. She tried to lean away to speak, but his arm was like a vise around her waist.

"I should tell you," she said, her voice sounding high and strained in her own ears, "My fiancée might have something to say about the 'more' part."

At that he loosened his hold enough to lean back and look in her eyes.

"Maxwell?" he said, sounding almost delighted. "He is your fiancée?"

She was so startled she forgot to be anxious.

"Oh. No," she said. "Bill? No. He's just a friend."

"Ah, a friend," Rufino said with an unpleasant smirk. "You are at Abrazo with a 'friend' on Christmas Eve. If he allows this, I think your fiancée has lost his right to object."

Pam opened her mouth to protest and found herself lost for words. She couldn't say it was Ralph's idea. When he suggested dinner, she was reasonably sure, he had had the same mental image she did of fried fish sandwiches for two.

He couldn't have expected Bill to take her dancing. Of course, she thought, he hadn't really. They had sat quietly at their table through a dozen dances before Anjeline came over.

Anjeline. Had Bill brought her here simply to make Anjeline jealous? The thought caused another bright flare of anger.

Abruptly, Rufino thrust a leg forward, causing her to turn. Her hip collided with his and he moved his shoulders, pulling hers in a small shimmy. He twisted again and they resumed their face-to-face box step.

She noticed that the other couples on the floor seemed to be giving them a wide berth. She suspected it had less to do with admiration for their dance skills than reluctance to risk attracting Rufino's attention.

"Your friend, Bill, seems to be enjoying his dance with the gato preto," Rufino said.

The hand around her waist gave a sharp tug as he released his hold on her hand. She found herself spinning away, nearly losing her balance before his hand on her waist tightened and pulled her close again.

The movement turned her to face side of the dance floor away from the band. Across the floor, Bill and Anjeline danced.

As she watched, they took two steps in perfect rhythm, Bill's hand resting lightly on Anjeline's hip, her hand on his upper arm. Then she took a half-turn away, shifting into a step that was counterpoint to his. He slipped behind her and with a touch of his hand, reversed her direction. They took two gliding steps back, then a quick flick of his foot sent them moving at a right angle. Another touch of his hand sent Anjeline into a twirl. Her long black dress flared at her ankles in a cascade of sparkling sequins.

Bill's shoulders shifted and seemingly without even the slightest touch, he froze her movement. Her head dropped to the side and she arched back over his extended arm. One leg thrust back and her body formed an elongated curve in perfect balance to Bill's tall, straight line.

It was less like Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, she thought, and more like Cary Grant and Katherine Hepburn. They moved together with an ease and power that made the word "dancing" seem inadequate. What it resembled most was a teasing dialogue.

She saw Bill's lips move and realized they really were having a conversation. For a moment, she was lost in uncomfortable thoughts of the kind of sweet nothings they might be exchanging.

The feel of Rufino's thick fingers against the nape of her neck broke into her attention. She had completely forgotten him and she guessed that he had noticed.

The pressure against her neck increased and she felt herself jerked back into a crude imitation of Anjeline's graceful pose. She tried to straighten, but the pressure of Rufino's hand was relentless. The high heel of her shoe slipped and she felt herself falling backward. She reached out reflexively and gripped Rufino's arm. His smug grin was sickening. For a moment she thought he was going to let her fall, but the hand behind her neck stiffened and she jerked to a stop, stretched out along his arm. His gaze raked down the front of her dress and she felt as if she was naked.

Her face was hot with anger and embarrassment when he finally pulled her upright. Involuntarily, she searched for Bill and found him. His gaze met hers over Anjeline's shoulder and she let the pleading show in her eyes. She felt a catch in her throat as she saw his eyes narrow and his jaw tighten.

Rufino seemed to feel the change in her breathing. He took two quick steps, turning her sharply so she faced the bandstand.

"Be a good girl, Pamela," he said. "Your friend, Maxwell, is busy with his gato preto. He has left you to me."

He pressed forward and her stomach tightened as she felt a hard pressure against her hip.

"And I want to show you how to dance," he said in a husky whisper.

She couldn't hide her grimace of disgust. Rufino gave a harsh laugh.

"You play with fire in your pretty red dress, princesa," he said in a husky whisper, "too late now to fear the flame."

He bent toward her and she knew he was going to try to kiss her.

No, she thought, "try" was the wrong word. He was going to do it. There was nothing she could do to stop him.

But that was no reason not to make the effort. She took her hand from his arm and pulled it back to launch a hard slap against his looming face.

He released her other hand and caught her wrist easily. He dragged her open hand down and between their bodies.

This was too much, she thought. There was no way she going to allow herself to be sexually assaulted in the middle of a dance floor.

She lifted her foot and speared down with her heel, digging it into his ankle. She allowed herself a moment to enjoy the sight of his black eyes widening in shock, followed by the rigid look as the pain struck.

She realized she'd waited just a moment too long to pull out of his grasp when his face went red and he bared his teeth in a snarl. When she tried to wriggle free, he gripped her so tightly around the waist it forced the air from her lungs.

"I was too gentle before, princesa," he growled. "Now I know what you need is a good, hard-"

He froze in mid-snarl.

"I'd give a lot of thought to the next word out of your mouth, Rufi."

She looked over Rufino's shoulder and saw Bill. His eyes were set and focused, but his face was strangely calm.

Rufino released his grip and she stumbled back. The other dancers were backing away in a widening circle, but the band didn't seem to have noticed the interruption yet. Bright flourishes of music drifted over the suddenly still floor.

Pam moved carefully to the side and saw the long-barreled revolver Bill had pressed to the small of Rufino's back.

As she moved, she noticed with an unpleasant start of surprise that Anjeline stood on his other side, biting her full lower lip in a gesture of beautiful anxiety.

"Counselor, do me a favor," Bill said, his eyes never leaving Rufino's back. "He's got a piece on him somewhere. The only place I can think is an ankle holster. Since you didn't find it a minute ago with your shoe, I'd try the other leg."

Pam bent quickly and lifted Rufino's trouser leg. A black elasticized holster was strapped to his calf. She tugged the snub-nosed revolver free and backed away.

She moved to hold it out to Bill.

"Hang on to it for a minute, honey," he said.

He started backing away toward the door on the far side of the dance floor. She gripped the gun and pointed it carefully toward the ground as she kept pace at his side.

"Down on the floor, Rufi," Bill said. "Hands on your head. You, too, Tadeo."

She only noticed the bulky bouncer type moving up on their left when he froze. As Rufino and Tadeo sank to their knees she saw Bill's sharp gaze raking over the crowd.

The band was coming to a jangling halt at last and in the sudden silence his voice rang against the wine-colored walls.

"Tell your goon squad to stay put," he said. "I won't be as easy-going if they follow us."

"You'll be dead, old man," Rufino snarled from the floor. "And you won't be able to protect your women then."

Bill snorted and shot Pam a look from the corner of his eye.

"Now who's medieval?" he said.

"Can the chatter, creep," he shouted. "Start counting. Don't move till you hit five hundred. And if I see you coming after us, you're gonna be looking for your head in the gutter."

"Get Pam out the back," he hissed.

On his other side, Anjeline nodded and stepped around him. She reached out for Pam's hand and led her quickly toward the door.

As she pushed it open, Nico appeared at their side looking pale and anxious.

"Policia," Anjeline whispered.

He nodded and moved back into the half-light at the back of the restaurant.

Anjeline tugged at her arm. She looked back to see Bill still backing away from the dance floor.

"Keep moving, sweetheart," he said. "I'm right behind you."

Pam let Anjeline drag her through the open door into a square storage room piled high with metal chairs and round tables, their legs folded flat, leaning against the wall. Anjeline was already pulling her on to the next door set in the far wall.

"Does this door lock?" Pam said as they moved between the stacked chairs.

"I don't know," Anjeline whispered. Her voice was tight as if she was on the verge of tears. "Please, come this way."

"Wait," Pam said, pulling against the other woman's grip.

She scanned the piles of furniture. It was mostly made of hollow metal tubing, too light to serve as a barricade. She spotted heavy brocade fabric in the corner and moved toward it. After a moment's indecision, she tucked Rufino's gun into the bodice of her dress.

When Bill backed through the door, she was tugging a massive tapestry-covered sofa away from the wall.

She looked up and saw him scowl.

"You're as bad as Ralph, aren't you?" he said. "Would it kill you to listen to me for once?"

He tucked his gun into his waistband and took the other end of the sofa. He took most of the weight. She helped guide into place against the door.

"Where's the gun I gave you?" he said. She saw his eyes shift to her neckline and he looked away.

"Oh," he said. "Yeah, that'll work."

There was a bang like a kick being aimed against the opposite side of the door. Anjeline gave a little scream.

"That was never five hundred seconds," Pam said staring at the door.

Bill snorted.

"You kiddin'?" he said. "He can't count that high. I was hoping he'd make it to sixty though. Come on."

He reached for her hand and led her toward the opposite door.

"So, Bill," she said panting slightly as they scrambled through another storage room, this one stacked with plastic-wrapped linens, "Is it like this every Friday, or just on religious holidays?"

He barked a laugh.

"Only when you're around, beautiful," he said. "You seem to go to people's heads."

"I mean," she went on, stepping over a tumbled pile of white napkins. "I know the Tango has a reputation, but this is-"

She broke off as he skidded to a stop and turned to stare at her.

"You're serious, aren't you?" he said slowly. "Jeez, Davidson, you're so good at the support work I forget sometimes you're a girl."

Before she could snap back a sharp reply he stepped toward her.

He pushed one red satin strap back onto her shoulder, looked at her for a long moment, and leaned forward, planting a light kiss on her forehead.

His eyes were bright as he backed away.

"Do me a favor, Davidson," he said, his voice strangely hoarse. "And don't ever change."

A crash from the furniture storage room broke the spell. Bill grabbed her shoulder and pushed her toward Anjeline. The other woman was thrusting back the dead bolt on a heavy metal door. She jerked the door open and dashed through. Pam looked back to find Bill had stopped in the middle of the room.

He had his service revolver in one hand and was reaching around to grab the smaller snub-nosed pistol from its usual spot at the small of his back.

"Get Anjeline to the car," he said over his shoulder. "I'll be right behind you. But if I'm not, there's a spare key taped under the right rear wheel well. By the time you get the car started, if I'm still not there, drive like hell and don't stop till you see blue lights."

She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off.

"I'm counting on you, honey," he said.

She blinked and nodded once, then followed Anjeline through the heavy metal door, shoving it closed behind her.

They were in the drive-up delivery corridor behind the restaurant. Bare yellow bulbs were strung between the brick walls that lined the alley. They shone dull yellow pools on the cracked asphalt.

In her sparkling dress, Anjeline looked ridiculously out of place among the massive industrial dumpsters and stacks of folded cardboard boxes. She had her hands clasped against her chest and tears shone on her porcelain cheeks.

"Where is Guiomar?" she said in a hoarse whisper. "What-"

Pam took her arm and turned left down the alley.

"Guiomar wants us to start the car," she said tightly.

If she gauged the distance right, Pam thought, Bill's car was two blocks away. It would be good to keep Anjeline calm until they got there. Answering some questions might curb the hysteria she heard building in the other woman's choked sobs. And she wouldn't mind having some answers.

She tugged Rufino's pistol from her bodice and held it pointed at the ground as she they clattered down the alley on their stiletto heels.

"Anjeline," she said, "Tell me what just happened in there. Who is Rufino?"

She heard Anjeline take a shuddering breath.

"Rufino is a-," Anjeline said haltingly, "A 'punk,' Guiomar says."

Pam grinned in spite of herself.

"'Punk' covers a lot of ground with Guiomar," she said. "Can you be more specific?"

"He is a- 'deal' I think it's called," Anjeline answered. "His men bring the drugs to Los Angeles and he sells them to men who sell them to other men."

"A dealer," Pam said. "Okay, that explains the denouement, but not the back story."

"What?" Anjeline said.

"I mean," Pam said more slowly, "What was Bill doing here tonight? Specifically. He wasn't just coming for dinner and a dance was he?"

"I called," Anjeline said. "Last night. I told him some men would meet at Abrazo tonight to make the deal for drugs. I did not know who. I thought Rufino would be one. Rufino likes to dance with me. I thought I could learn his plan and Guiomar might, ah, tome medidas. Take action."

The end of the alleyway was in sight and there was still no sign of Bill.

"Did you learn his plan?" Pam said, skirting a greasy-looking puddle at the last moment.

"He had no plan," Anjeline said, her voice rising. "He is homem louco- crazy man. His plan was to kill the other dealers and take the money. He boasted to me. He said he would kill them all in ah- uma emboscada. So I told Guiomar when we danced."

"Emboscada?" Pam repeated.

After eight years in Los Angeles, she still knew woefully little Spanish. Sometimes it bothered her more than others.

"Ah- ambush," Anjeline said. "Outside Abrazo."

Pam skidded to a stop. Bill would never in a million years send them out into a potential ambush.

"Hold it!" she said.

Anjeline took two more steps before she turned back.

There was a faint popping sound from back up the alley the way they had come. It could have been the echo of a backfiring car. Pam knew it wasn't.

"You didn't tell Bill the ambush was outside Abrazo, did you?" Pam said.

They were in a dark patch between two burnt out lamps. Pam thought she saw Anjeline shake her head.

"I did not have time," the other woman said. "Our dance was interrupted."

Pam thought she heard a faint note of reproach in Anjeline's voice. It was the least of her concerns at the moment.

If the ambush had been out back, she thought, she and Anjeline would have landed in the middle of it. The ambush was out front.

She looked down the alley. She wasn't surprised at all to see several hulking silhouettes step into sight.

She grabbed Anjeline's arm with her free hand.

"Silencio!" she hissed as the other woman let out a squeak of protest. Not for the first time, Pam wondered at the fact that beauty and intelligence were so often mutually exclusive.

She dragged Anjeline behind the nearest dumpster and pushed her down to a crouching position. She thought back to the few instructions on handling a gun she'd ever been able to pry from Bill's mouth.

"Just hold it and look tough." Not particularly helpful; especially when you really didn't want to become a hostage.

"Point it at the ground or the sky when you're not actually aiming it." He hadn't actually said that, but she'd observed the behavior often enough to learn it. Again, not useful in this situation.

What did he do when he shot at people? She pictured Bill, feet apart, arm extended. He had both eyes open, not squinting along the barrel as she'd been taught to do as a child playing cops and robbers. In her mind's eye, he took a breath and held it before he fired. He usually fired several shots in succession. Triangulating on the target?

It wasn't much, but it was all she could come up with under the circumstances. She spread her feet and settled into a bent-legged stance that felt like the one she pictured.

"What are you doing?" whispered Anjeline from somewhere behind her.

"I think I'm covering you," Pam hissed. "Be quiet and try not to sparkle."

--------------------

- continued -

**el Tango de Los Angeles **

(Tango of the Angels)


	5. Cadencia: Chapter 5

She didn't have long to wait. The first hulking shape sidled past their hiding place a few moments later. She was impressed that someone so large could move so quietly.

Two more shapes moved past a moment later. She had counted three bodies at the end of the alley. With luck, there were no stragglers.

There were several more popping sounds from back up the alley, then the sound of a heavy metal door being flung open and rebounding off brick. The goons slowed to a stop and fanned out across the alley.

She couldn't wait any longer.

"Anjeline," she breathed. "Take off your shoes."

When there was no answering rustle of beaded fabric, she hissed, "Do it!"

She heard the other woman shift to slip off her heels.

"Now, when I say 'run'," she said, "You run for the street as fast as you can. Stay against the wall as much as possible. Turn right when you get there and keep running. Got it?"

She was already moving away from the dumpster. She heard Anjeline move behind her.

Pam stepped into the nearest semi circle of light cast by a bare bulb overhead. She gripped the pistol in both hands and raised it.

"Run," she hissed, "Now!"

Pam heard Anjeline's bare feet strike against the asphalt. The goon in the middle of the alley looked around at the sound of Anjeline's flight.

"Freeze your face, punk!" Pam shouted.

It wasn't as loud or as deep as she had hoped. But it had the benefit of surprise.

All three ambushers whirled toward her, guns drawn. All three froze at the sight of a woman in a "do me" red dress and spike heels standing spread legged in the middle of the alley.

She had to use both thumbs to pull back the hammer on the pistol. Only then did it occur to her to wonder if there was a safety.

The goon on her right let out a harsh laugh.

"Cadela," he said.

The other two goons chuckled at the apparent witticism. The goon on the right stepped toward her.

She pivoted to point the gun at him and saw the other two move. At least she could take out one, she thought. It was better than nothing.

She took in a breath and tightened her finger on the trigger.

A shot pinged off the bricks beside the right-hand goon's head. Brick fragments sprayed across the alley.

When she thought back on it later, Pam was very proud of herself for two things.

First, when the shot hit the wall, she didn't fire her own gun out of reflex.

Second, when Bill's voice rang out in the alley, she didn't drop the gun and sag to the ground in a dead faint.

She was less proud of the sob of relief she let out. But she was inclined to cut herself some slack for the first two points.

"I'd listen to the lady," Bill was saying as he stepped into sight behind the goons. "She's scary when she's mad."

"Drop the revólveres," he said. "Amável and fácil."

To Pam's surprise, it was the one on the left that didn't follow instructions. The other two were placing their pistols on the ground when he spun toward Bill and squeezed off two shots.

Both shots went wide, but the distraction gave the other goons the chance to retrieve their weapons.

Bill's first shot hit the goon on the left in his gun arm. He spun and fell with a choked cry. His gun skittered away across the asphalt.

Pam fired at the goon on the right, some instinct telling her not to aim toward Bill. To her combined relief and horror, the safety was apparently off.

Her shot pinged off the door behind him. He whirled toward her, forgetting Bill, who shot him in the leg. He crumpled to the ground.

The goon in the middle shot Bill.

In a way, it was like a dance. On the first beat, she heard the shot. Then she saw Bill fall backwards. She pivoted toward the shooter. She squeezed the trigger. The bullet slammed into his shoulder. A splash of blood sprayed across the ground

The shooter screamed, signaling the dance was over.

She gathered up the three fallen guns before she went to Bill. He was proud of her for that, which it made it all the sweeter.

-------------

Pam sat in Bill's car with Anjeline. Her red dress was much the worse for wear what with the blood and the dirt from the alley where she knelt by Bill. She didn't think she'd want to wear it again in any case. It wouldn't be the same.

Anjeline was stretched out on the back seat. She might have been asleep. Pam wasn't really interested. They had run out of things to say to one another a couple of hours before.

Pam stared out the windshield at the flashing blue lights whipping across the plate glass windows of the shops around Abrazo. In twos and fours, they were going out. Several police cars pulled away from the curb and cruised up the street toward her. She blinked in the glare of their headlights. As they passed, the cops inside stared through the window at her. She stared back.

At the mouth of the alley, one set of red and white lights, the ambulance, still flashed steadily.

The ambulance had been the first to arrive by at least a minute. The police cars had come screaming up in its wake.

Two more ambulances had come and gone. The news vans had come and gone. The FBI crime scene techs had come and gone.

The first ambulance still sat. She could see people moving in the brightly lit medical bay. The angle was wrong to make out more than shapes.

Anjeline shifted in the back seat and let out a small sigh. She was asleep then, Pam thought. She wondered why she wasn't more tired herself.

As she sat, staring at the ambulance, questions kept tumbling through her mind. There was only one that Anjeline could answer and Pam had asked it as soon as they climbed in the car.

"Why did everyone at Abrazo seem to know my name?"

Anjeline looked at with her big, gold-brown eyes.

"Guiomar," she said simply.

"Yes, I guessed that much," Pam said, trying not to let her irritation show. "I meant, why-"

She paused. "What did he say? About me?"

Anjeline nodded.

"He said you were belo- beautiful, smart, engraçada- funny…"

She bit her lip and stared into space for a moment before she lowered her eyes and stared into Pam's.

"He said you were his partner's wife," she said. "But you are not."

Pam shook her head.

"We just got engaged a few weeks ago," she said.

Anjeline shrugged.

"He knew it was to be," she said. "Thinking of you as a wife, would make it easier."

Pam frowned.

"Make what easier?" she said.

"Wanting you," Anjeline answered.

Pam flipped the catch on the glove compartment. A gun magazine slid out onto her lap. She set it aside. There was a stack of maps. A soft cloth with grease on it – for cleaning guns, she decided. A few pens. And a plastic zipper baggie full of dog biscuits. She pulled the baggie out and set in on her lap. She was snapping the glove compartment closed when the back door of the ambulance opened.

Bill jumped to the ground. She could hear his voice carrying down the street in the early morning hush, but she could only make out a few words.

"…observation my …over there in my car …four and half hours …to hell! …same to you."

Pam straightened as he stomped toward the car. She had a passing thought about checking her hair in the mirror, but decided the sight would only frighten her.

Bill yanked open the driver's side door with his left hand and dropped heavily into the seat. She saw him cover his wince of pain with a tight frown.

She looked over at the green sling on his arm.

"They were out of blue?" she said.

"They were out of their minds," he snarled.

"They wanted me to go to the _hospital_ for an _x-ray_," he said, giving the medical words a vindictive spin. "Like I don't know what a busted rib feels like by now."

"'Tell you what,' I said. 'Tape it up, and if I start coughing up blood, I'll be sure to tell the next guys you tried to get me to the hospital.' I thought that was fair."

"They didn't like that idea?" she said.

"Medical morons," he said under his breath.

He slotted the key into the ignition and sat staring at the steering wheel for a long moment.

"Want me to drive?" she said.

He inhaled sharply and let it out slowly.

"Yes," he said at last.

She put the biscuits on the dashboard and climbed out.

They met at the back of the car. She saw him give her an appraising look, checking for more than cosmetic damage. He seemed satisfied that she was in one piece and continued around to the passenger side.

She was less satisfied. His usually perfectly coifed hair was a little tousled and his face looked as rumpled as his suit, but mostly he looked in pain. She hoped he wasn't too uncomfortable. There wasn't much left to the night and she had plans for the time that remained.

She climbed into the driver's side of the car and lifted the lever to slide the seat forward.

He settled in beside her and picked up the baggie of biscuits.

"Merry Christmas," she said, reaching up to adjust the rear view mirror.

"You shouldn't have," he said. His voice was muffled as he gripped the bag in his teeth and pried it open with his free hand.

"Probably not," she said, turning the key and shifting the car into drive. "But I've got some mints in my purse."

They drove in silence while she wound her way out of West Hollywood. The only noise was the rhythmic crunching of dog biscuits from the seat beside her.

"Are you hungry?" he said after several minutes. "Dinner was a while ago."

She gave him a sidelong look.

"I meant for real food," he said quickly. "There's an all night diner-"

"I may fix something when we get back to my place," she said.

If he heard anything unexpected in the phrasing, he didn't comment.

"Where am I taking Sleeping Beauty?" she said when she saw the lights of Sunset Boulevard.

"Her place is off Alameda," he said.

She turned onto Castle Heights.

"Uh, should I pretend I read it in her wallet?" Bill said.

"No," she answered.

Pam saw him turn in his seat and look back at Anjeline. She glanced in the rear view mirror. The woman really did look like Sleeping Beauty. Her head was pillowed on her deep auburn hair. Even her dirty bare feet looked endearing. Damn her.

"How long she been out?" Bill said, turning back to the windshield.

"Couple of hours," Pam said.

"You two didn't have much to talk about," he said.

"No," she agreed. "We just have the one thing in common."

He coughed and she heard his sharp intake of breath at the pain in his side. She waited to hear him resettling in his seat before she asked her next question.

"Why do all the women call you 'Guiomar'?" she said. "I thought Guillamo was the Spanish for William."

When he didn't answer for a moment, she decided to let it go, but she was relieved when he started speaking.

"It's a nickname," he said. "Roxana's sister started using it and it kinda caught on."

"Roxana," she said. "The hostess?"

"Yeah," he said. "Abrazo is kind of a family business."

"What does Abrazo mean?" she said. "I meant to ask."

"It's an expression from the Tango," he said. "Means 'embrace'."

She nodded.

"So what does 'Guiomar' mean?"

He shifted in his seat.

"Tatiana said it meant, 'famous in battle'," he said. "Or something. I don't really remember."

It wasn't a full explanation, she thought, but it was more than she expected. She decided to let it go.

"Pretty amazing," she said. "All that shooting and nobody got killed."

He reached down to release the seat catch and lowered the backrest a couple of notches.

"Some people came closer than others," he said as he resettled in the seat.

"Rufino, you mean?"

"Bingo," he said. "But after I shot him in the leg he started cryin'. I kinda lost my enthusiasm for it after that."

She smiled to herself.

"That's probably a good thing," she said.

"Yeah, it's just as well," he agreed. "A lot less paperwork."

She was pretty certain he knew that's not what she meant, but it was hard to tell with Bill sometimes.

--------------

Pam waited in the car while he took Anjeline upstairs. She jumped when he reappeared at the passenger side door.

"That was fast," she said after releasing the door locks to let him in. "No one tried to break into the car and rob me by the way."

He sat back down more carefully than the last time.

"Better safe than stupid," he said, grunting a little as he tugged the door closed.

She pulled away from the curb and started toward Venice Boulevard.

"Painkiller wearing off?" she said.

"That's my guess, too," he said grimly. "Hey, what did you and Anjeline talk about before she flaked out?"

"Not much," she said, braking for a red light and keeping her eyes fixed on the road ahead. "Why? Worried I'll find out about your secret life as a gigolo?"

He snorted.

"If that was true," he said. "I'd have a better apartment."

She risked a glance and saw his eyes were closed.

"So when should I come get you to pick up Ralph tomorr- I mean today?" he said.

"That won't be necessary," she said.

She heard him shift and glanced over. He was staring at her. He turned away when he saw her looking back.

"You don't want a lift?" he said.

"You're staying at my place."

He was silent for a moment.

"I'm really okay, ya know," he said at last. "I've had worse'n this on a Saturday night."

"I know," she said. "If I didn't think that, you wouldn't be staying."

When she risked another glance, his lips were pursed.

"Uh, I don't wanna bleed on your couch or something," he said at last.

"That's not a problem," she said.

As she hoped, the answer was either too nebulous or too fraught with implication to safely allow an answering question.

They talked about how much Santa Monica had changed for the rest of the ride to her apartment.

--------------

Riding back up in the elevator was strange. She watched the floors tick by on the number display and didn't try to make conversation. She didn't trust herself to sound normal.

Upstairs, he stood quietly beside her as she slotted her key into the lock. Neither spoke and somehow, that silence, as she went through the motions: opening her apartment door, Bill walking in behind her, the sound of his breath, the rustle of their clothing in the dim light from the sliding glass door to the balcony, reaching for the light switch and brushing his sleeve… It was all perfectly innocent, yet all deeply, powerfully erotic.

Pam took a deep breath, flipped the switch, and so launched her plan for seducing Bill Maxwell.

--------------

- continued -

**el Tango de Los Angeles **

(Tango of the Angels)


	6. Sube y Baja: Chapter 6

PART 3

_**Sube y Baja **_

Literally, to go up and down: A milonga step in which the couple dance forward-together and back-together in outside right position with a pendulum action of the hips.

--------------

She sat cross-legged on the floor by the sofa. Bill lay half-reclining on the cushions, his back against the armrest.

He hadn't batted an eye when she came out of the bedroom in her white silk two-piece pajamas and long robe. It was modest loungewear, after all. She did notice that, at first, his gaze seemed to skid across her and settle on a distant point somewhere above her right shoulder. She had an idea that the floor lamp in the corner had never felt so admired.

But that was most of a bottle of good Burgundy ago. Now it was nearing 3:00 am on Christmas morning. She was feeling pleasantly loosened up, and she had caught Bill staring at her chest more than once. Time was running out and she was ready to make her move.

"Chivalry's got nothin' to do with it," Bill was saying. "I gave you the gun because I trusted you with it."

He took another long sip from his wine glass.

"Chivalry's great and all," he said. "I wouldn't knock it. But when the rubber meets the road and the bullets start flying, I'll take a buddy who can handle themselves over a female you can't be sure won't faint or shoot you by accident."

"Well, to be fair, Bill," she said, "I have fainted before."

"Yeah, well," he waved his glass dismissively, "You was probably just hungry or something. Anyway, it hasn't happened lately."

"Case in point," he said grandly, "Didn't happen tonight. Last night. Whatever."

He stared at her and she felt a warm flush start in her chest.

"You handled yourself like a real pro, Davidson," he said more softly. He raised his glass in her direction.

"Here's to you," he said. "A buddy and a female in one."

She raised her glass and leaned forward to clink it against his. She felt her pajama top fall away from her skin and hated herself for using the ancient ploy, but she had to admit, such tactics had survived from time immemorial for one simple reason: they worked.

She took her time settling back on the floor and was pleased to see the flutter back in Bill's throat as he swallowed. She was glad she'd simply brushed out her hair and washed her face, resisting the urge to shower and apply fresh makeup. She had an idea that the unadorned look was more appealing after the previous night.

"Let's go outside for a minute," she said, uncurling from the floor. "Before the sun comes up."

He looked down uncertainly.

He looked comfortable, stretched out on the sofa. She had found him a big navy blue t-shirt to wear in place of his bloodstained shirt and jacket.

And he had actually let her help him into it, which she thought was promising. She had tried to be clinical when he sat on the edge of her bed to let her undo his shirt buttons.

"How do you do this by yourself?" she asked, trying to distract herself from the well-muscled chest appearing under the shirt. "When you've only got one hand to work with?"

She had the feeling he was glad for the distraction, too. He wasn't usually as outspoken about his injuries.

"That's the easy part," he said. "It just takes a little longer. The tough stuff is tying shoelaces and ties. Ties are a real bear one-handed."

She smiled as she slid the shirt carefully off his shoulders and worked it down his arms.

"So they just gave you the sling to keep you from moving your arm too much? " she said. "Not because it was injured?"

"Nah," he said. "Typical waste of material. I'm just lucky I've got insurance to cover that garbage. I must have fifteen of those damn slings in my closet at home."

"Kinda hate to throw 'em away," he said as she undid his cuff buttons. "I keep thinking, 'Well, maybe I'll bust a wing a block from home sometime. Then I can just run back and grab a sling outta the closet.' "

"Every little bit to keep the premiums down," he said. "Carlisle says I'm single-handedly wrecking the percentages. But he also thinks I caused the oil crisis and killed disco, so what're you gonna do."

She set the bloody shirt aside and paused. He glanced up from toeing off his shoes and gave her a quizzical look.

"What?" he said, looking down at the bandage around his chest. "Is it bleeding? I told 'em they could wrap it tighter. It's a lot easier when you get an EMT who's old enough to be a combat vet. They know what the real thing looks like."

"It's not bleeding," she said. "Not that I can see. I was just-"

She bit her lip.

"Does it hurt to touch?" she said.

"Not if you don't punch me there," he said. "I mean it's a little sore…"

She cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Okay," he said, "It hurts like hell. You get used to it after a while."

She hesitated, then held up her hand, palm out toward his chest.

"Can I touch it?" she said.

He blinked.

"Uh, yeah, sure," he said. "If you want."

He seemed as fascinated by her interest as she was by the contours of the bandage. He watched as she knelt beside the bed and carefully touched her palm to the raised outline of the gauze pad that covered the wound in the front.

"It went in here?" she said.

"Yeah," he said, and she noticed his voice was suddenly hoarse.

She slid her hand around the side of the bandage to the next raised area.

"And it hit your rib here," she said, "And broke it."

"Cracked it," he said.

She looked up.

He inclined his head.

"Okay, it's the same thing," he said.

She slid her hand further around his side.

"And it came out… here," she said.

"Two holes for the price of one," he said flashing a crooked grin.

"It's lucky it hit your rib," she said, still holding her hand against his side.

"I guess," he said. "Lucky is relative. It is better than taking one in the lung. That lays you up for a while."

She sat back on her heels and brushed her long hair back off her shoulders. She waited until she saw his shifting glance meet her eyes.

"Bill, when I saw blood all over your chest, I thought you were going to die," she said.

He cleared his throat.

"Yeah, well," he said. "Just as a tip for the future, it's good you didn't mention it. Nobody likes to hear that when they're lying in an alley bleeding."

"Hey," he said, looking away. "Where's that t-shirt, huh? I think you gotta draft in here."

She let it go at that. The next several minutes were spent trying to find the best way to get the t-shirt over his head without having him raise his arms.

Pam finally came up with the strategy of having him lean forward and hang his arms down while she worked the shirt up and over his head.

Inching the shirt up his arms and down his back created an opportunity for several minutes of close contact. When he finally sat back, she only hesitated a moment before reaching up and gently brushing the graying hair back from his forehead.

His only response was to take a deep breath. The next instant, he winced at the flare of pain and she felt guilty. Cursing herself for a calculating female she took his hand and led him into the living room. After getting him settled on the couch, she cracked the seal on a new bottle of wine and settled in to the next phase of her campaign to get Bill into her bed by dawn.

--------------

She sat nestled against his side on the wooden bench glider on her balcony. Her feet were tucked up and she had tugged the heavy comforter from her bed up around their necks.

He noticed he was sitting a little stiffly and she wasn't sure if it was because of their proximity, the cold or his wound. She hoped it was only the first two.

"It's a great view, Davidson," he said, looking out toward the winking lights on the ocean. "You're gonna miss this place when you move in with Ralph."

She rested her cheek against his shoulder. Here comes the guilt again, she thought, he was making it almost too easy. But it was interesting that the guilt was about manipulating Bill, not about what should be the more obvious source.

"I'm going to miss having my own space," she agreed. "I know Ralph is going to have trouble giving up his privacy, too."

"Ralph?"

Bill laughed.

"Davidson, Ralph would give his left arm for you, much less his privacy," he said. "You're the moon and stars to that guy. I think you're the only thing that keeps him together most of the time."

She felt him shift, settling into a more comfortable position. She shifted too, using the movement to lean her head against the front of his shoulder and pulling her knees up until they rested on his thigh. When that didn't cause him to leap to his feet, she decided to push her luck. She brought her hand up to rest it against his chest.

She felt his breathing change beneath her hand. He was trying to breath normally, but it wasn't working.

"Yeah," he said. "Uh, that guy's really nuts about you, honey. It just about killed him that time you called it quits."

"Bill, I've been meaning to ask you. That stuff you said yesterday," she said slowly. "On the way to the airport. About me being jealous about Ralph and Alicia."

He shifted again. She shifted with him, not lessening the light pressure against his chest.

"Oh, that, yeah," he said. "I didn't mean nothin' by that. I was just, you know, thinking about Abrazo and letting my mouth run away without my brain for company."

"Oh," she said carefully. "So you weren't talking about that time he slept with her last year."

He stopped breathing. His chest went completely rigid under her hand. She was starting to get worried when he let out a little cough and shifted again.

"Uh, what're you talking about?" he said. "Ralph wouldn't- well, he didn't- I mean, uh, that's just crazy. Where'd you get an idea like that anyway?"

"You don't have to cover for him, Bill," she said. "I just wondered if you knew about it, too."

When he didn't say anything, she sighed and went on.

"Last November, when she came to LA to do the tam-" she hesitated.

"To do the feminine hygiene commercial," she went on. "I was spending a lot of time at the office. I wasn't around much for a few months and I wasn't paying attention like I should've. Ralph was lonesome and Alicia was the manipulative bitch that she is. It wasn't too hard for her to get into his bed."

"I blamed myself for a while," she said. "Then I blamed her. But mostly I blamed Ralph."

She shrugged. "And then I got over it. I know Ralph knows it was a mistake. And I know he loves me. It was a thing that happened then, under those circumstances. It wouldn't happen today. And it's not happening in Miami."

She waited for him to formulate a response. His, words, when they came, were not the ones she expected.

"He doesn't know you know," he said quietly.

"No," she agreed. "By the time I found out, it was history. We'd been through the whole Wilde-Classical Gas Concert thing. I knew how much Ralph cared about me. I understood the circumstances. It would have hurt his relationship with Kevin if he felt like he could never see Alicia again. If he worried that I would always be suspicious. So I let it go."

"How did you find out?" he said. "Oh. Alicia told you, didn't she?"

She smirked.

"In a way," she said. "She left her panties where I would find them. The one thing I really enjoyed about the whole nightmare was imagining her sitting there expecting the other shoe to drop. It must've driven her crazy waiting to hear that I'd dumped Ralph in a jealous rage. I liked to think about her sitting up nights getting bags under her eyes. But I doubt she really cared that much."

She glanced at him.

"How did you find out?" she said.

"He told me," Bill said.

She shifted to look up at his face. He was staring out over the water.

"Really?" she said.

"Yeah, he was pretty torn up about it," he said. "He really wanted to tell you. Clear his conscience."

She thought for a moment.

"You talked him out of it," she said.

"I told him he was an idiot, which he knew, and that if he ever did it again I would personally tear off his head and stuff it down his neck for him," he said.

"Then I told him, if he could swear on his grave, that he would never do it again and mean it, he shouldn't tell you."

"After a while you figure out there's the truth and there's the lies you need to keep the truth going," he said. "The truth is, he loves you. The other is just a thing that happened, like you said."

He hesitated.

"I guess neither of us gave you enough credit, Davidson," he said.

"No," she said. "That was good advice. If he'd told me before I had time to work it out for myself, Alicia would've had a merrier Christmas last year."

He gave a short laugh.

"I really hate that woman," he said.

"Yeah," she answered, grinning. "Me, too."

The sat in silence for a moment, then Bill cleared his throat.

"There's just one thing, Davidson," he said quietly. "It's good you're okay with what happened with Ralph and Alicia. And I'm glad you're not mad that I gave him that advice. But…"

"Well, the thing is," he said, "Basically, I can't figure out what you're doing here, unless it's about revenge."

It was her turn to go rigid.

After a long moment, she leaned back so she could look into his face. He was still staring out over the water.

"I mean, 'cause," he said. "I get that. It's just, you know, you're better than that. And I- I'd really like to not be having this conversation, but here we are."

She exhaled a long sigh, then turned on the bench to sit cross-legged facing him. His face was half in shadow, half-lit by the dimmed lights in the living room. His solid jaw was set in a hard line. She could see his mouth pursed in a tight bow.

"No," she said. "It's not about revenge, Bill."

She touched her hand to his cheek and gently turned his head until he was looking in her eyes.

"It's about me," she said. "It's-"

She hesitated and dropped her hand back to his chest.

"It's complicated," she said at last. "It seems like it gets more complicated every few minutes."

She took a deep breath.

"All right," she said. "Here's the thing. No more games. I'm just going to lay it on the table. But hear me out before you say anything."

He blinked and she took it for assent.

"I've got a crush on you," she said.

He snorted and rolled his eyes.

"Stop it," she said, batting him lightly on the chest. "You're supposed to be quiet and listen."

"Like I said, a crush," she went on. "I- Well, now I think it was always there, but recently… It's been really there. All the time. It's been driving me crazy. I keep thinking it will go away. I thought for sure after spending all evening with you, being impossible and annoying and full of yourself-"

He cocked an eyebrow at her.

"Oh, you know it's true," she said.

He almost grinned, she noticed, but instead composed his face into the carefully blank look of attention that she'd seen drive Carlisle crazy.

"Anyway, instead of getting better," she said and took a deep breath. "Well, instead of making it better, you were pretty terrific tonight."

His mouth opened and she held up her hand.

"I know," she said. "I was pretty terrific, too. You can tell me all about it later."

This time, she saw, he couldn't hide the grin, but he made an effort to compose himself again.

"So tonight," she said, "Apart from the fact that you're an incredible dancer, and all the women are crazy about you, and you gave me the gun, and you shot at the guy who was shooting at me instead of the one that was shooting at you, which was really stupid by the way…"

"Apart from all that," she said softly, "I thought you were going to die and all I could think was, I never did this."

She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.

He took so long to respond, she was already sorting through possible ways to pass it off as a drunken mistake. When his mouth finally moved under hers, she almost laughed with relief.

Instead, she slid her hands up his chest and pressed forward. She felt his arms fold around her and it was as if a dam burst.

All the pent up longing and desire she'd been feeling for weeks, exploded in the kiss. She stroked her tongue across his upper lip and when his lips parted she thrust it inside.

She pushed up on her knees and pressed down against his open mouth, raking his lips, his teeth, his tongue with her own.

Everything fell away but the wine-sweet taste, and the warm, moist pressure of his lips. Then she heard and felt him moan under her and she almost cried out from the swell of desire that gripped her.

Over the roaring of blood in her ears, she heard a high, thin pulsing noise and didn't recognize it as coming from her own throat until he moaned again and she felt her shuddering response.

When she could no longer ignore the need for breath, she reluctantly broke the contact, releasing his mouth. Her skin felt feverish as she looked down into his dazed eyes and wondered how she had gotten so far above him.

She realized with a shock of surprise she was sitting half on his lap, gripping the fabric of his t-shirt in her fisted hands.

Her eyes widened.

"Oh," she said sliding off his lap and pressing her hands against the bandages she could feel under his shirt, "Oh, Bill, I'm so sorry. Did I hurt you? Are you okay?"

He blinked several times as his mouth moved wordlessly.

"Um, no, uh," he broke off and stared at her.

"What did you just ask me?" he said blankly.

She laughed and let her head fall forward. She pressed her forehead against his shoulder and breathed deeply.

"Oh," she said. "I really, really wish I hadn't enjoyed that so much. You have no idea how much I was hoping it would be terrible."

She realized his arms were still around her when his hand slid down to her waist an rested on her hip. She felt his shoulder relax as he bent his head and rested his cheek against her hair.

"Yeah," he said. "I know what you mean."

She took a long, shuddering breath and leaned back, sitting up to face him.

"Bill," she said. "Tell me honestly."

She inclined her head toward the living room.

"Do you want this, too?" she said.

His mouth opened and she rushed on.

"No wait," she said. "Before you give me a lot of 'ifs' and 'buts' and reasons why it's a bad idea, let me lay it out first."

He didn't interrupt, so she went on.

"Just for tonight. What's left of it," she said inclining her head toward the dimming stars. "Because in a few weeks I'll be a Mrs. Hinkley and it could never happen then. Because, I really want to have the memory to look back on. And, ok, just a little, because I've been really good all this time and I think I deserve to be a little bit bad."

She sat quietly waiting for his reaction.

"Are you done?" he said at last. "Can I talk now?"

She nodded. He stared back over the water.

"Yes," he said. "I do. Want it, I mean. I have, probably, since I first saw you in that stupid, little toy car looking like... Well, never mind. Anyway. I do. There's no point lyin' about it. So that's that settled. But-"

He pursed his lips.

"I'm gonna say something you're not gonna like, but that don't make it not true."

"Women are different," he went on.

She opened her mouth, but he held up a hand.

"My turn," he said.

"You can deny it all you want," he went on, "Women are just different. With a guy, it's-"

He shot her a look, then stared resolutely out at the water.

"I'm just gonna say it. With a guy, it's like we're walking around with a lightening rod in our pants."

She struggled not to smile.

"No, you can laugh," he said, shooting her another look. "It's pretty funny except when it happens to you. See this lightening rod is always getting shocked. Pretty girl – shock. Beautiful Counselor – shock. Most of the time, these shocks get, well, grounded. You know, that's it. But every once in a while, kapow, one shorts out the circuit board in the old beezer and you wake up next day staring at an unfamiliar pair of feet and you've got a new tattoo and a tongue that's doing a good impression of a cat box."

"Now you get to be my age," he said. "And it happens a lot less, but it still happens. The point is, because it happens a lot to most guys when they're just starting to get these short circuits, they have to learn to get used to it. They deal with the strange feet and the tattoo, have a gargle, and get on to the next thing. Girls ain't like that. They say they are, but they ain't."

"And, frankly, Counselor," he said giving her a long look. "I can't help but notice, you're a girl."

"Do you have any tattoos, Bill?" she said, grinning.

He rolled his eyes.

"Davidson," he said. "That's got to be the single worst pick up line I ever heard."

She laughed and he gave her a wry smile.

"Yes," he said, "Since you asked, I do."

He heaved a sigh.

"Look, beautiful," he said, "I'm trying to say, I may kick myself for the rest of my life, I know I will, but I'm trying like hell to be chivalrous here. And let me tell you, it ain't easy."

"Bill," she said slowly, "I'm going to lay on it the line for you. A wise man once said, 'chivalry's got nothing to do with it'. You trusted me not to be a female a few hours ago. Why can't you trust me now?"

He sat perfectly still, staring into her eyes. And then the mask fell away. For the first time, he consciously showed his clear and honest and completely open face.

"Let's go inside," he said quietly.

----------------------

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Chapter 7 is rated M for Mature Situations and is stored as a gap filler story under the M Rating.

**To find Chapter 7, go to the Main GAH Story List and sort for "M Rating" using the drop-down menu at the upper right. **

The story continues in Chapter 8.

----------------------

- continued -

**el Tango de Los Angeles **

(Tango of the Angels)


	7. Sube y Baja: Chapter 8

----------------------

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

This Chapter corresponds to Chapter 8 in the story.

Chapter 7 is rated M for Mature Situations and is stored as a gap filler story under the M Rating.

**To find Chapter 7, go to the Main GAH Story List and sort for "M Rating" using the drop-down menu at the upper right. **

The story continues here.

----------------------

"Damn it."

Her eyelids fluttered open and she blinked up in confusion.

"That's what a girl likes to hear first thing in the morning," she said to the ceiling. "A good, hearty 'damn it.'"

She sat up and found Bill sitting at the edge of the bed holding his injured side with his opposite hand.

"Hey," she said, scooting across the sheets to kneel at his side. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he said, his voice gruff. "Just stiffened up while I was sleeping. With busted ribs, I usually manage to get up a couple of times during the night and work out the kinks, but, well…"

He shot her a look over his shoulder.

"I guess I was too worn out," he said.

He flexed his shoulders and grimaced.

Pam pursed her lips.

"Okay," she said. "I'm going to choose to think you just need coffee and you'll be human again in a few minutes."

"Yeah, yeah, sorry," he said, running his fingers through his tousled hair. "The blinding pain is making me a little cranky. Plus I was trying to get up early and get the awkward leaving bit over with while you were still half asleep in case you wanted to pass it off as a really vivid dream."

Pam exhaled slowly. Then she scooted to the foot of the bed and fished around among the scattered clothing there. She held up a navy blue t-shirt, torn neatly down the middle.

"I think the ship sailed on the dream thing about the time I did this," she said.

She saw him struggle to keep from smiling and lose the fight.

He grinned.

"Lady," he said. "You're an animal."

"Thank you," she said, dropping the shirt to the floor. "Now, I'm going to find you some aspirin and make you some coffee."

She slid off the bed and scooped her white silk robe off the floor. Draping it over her arm, she moved toward the door.

"Why don't you freshen up and 'work the kinks out' before I get back," she said. "Then I'd like to talk about how much time I've got left on my night, since I didn't actually manage to wear you down until about 4:30 am."

She walked out into the living room and pulled the bedroom door shut behind her.

--------------

They made love again before breakfast. And almost once again while Pam was searching for another t-shirt for Bill to wear home.

At last they sat at the bar in the living room, Pam pushing the last few bites of french toast around her plate, while Bill took a long pull at his coffee cup.

"Did you get enough to eat?" she said, pushing back her plate.

He nodded.

"I did, I feel a little gypped though," he said.

"Because?"

"Well," he said, leaning back on the high bar stool and adjusting the drape of the white pocket-t she'd found at the back of her closet. "Somebody still owes me a homemade desert."

She grimaced.

"Well, despite the fact," she said, "That a cheesy line like that doesn't deserves any response at all except a loud groan, in the interest of fair play…"

She slid off her stool and fished around among the dusty bottles under the bar. She came up a few seconds later with an ancient bottle of maraschino cherries.

With a sharp twist and the 'pop' of the vacuum being released, she pulled off the top of the jar and scooped out a sticky red cherry.

She stuck out her tongue and balanced the cherry neatly on the end.

Bill looked at her for a long moment.

"What," he said, "No whipped cream?"

The cherry bounced away across the carpet as she dissolved in a fit of giggles.

He watched it roll under the sofa.

"Uh, sorry about the carpet again," he said. "I'm really not safe to have in here."

"I'm moving soon anyway," she said, sitting back on the stool with a sigh. "But shame on you for making me laugh when I'm trying to be sexy. That's not fair."

"Beautiful," he said, sliding off the stool and coming around the bar. "The day you have to _try_ to be sexy…"

--------------

They woke again to the sound of the phone ringing in the kitchen.

"Oh, damn," she said, sitting up and shooting a glance at the clock radio by the bed.

"I'm not gonna say a word," Bill said, levering himself up on his elbows. "Although you know I could."

"Just stay put," she said, "Don't move until I get back, it's really important."

She grabbed her robe off the foot of the bed and slipped it over her shoulders as she dashed toward the kitchen.

When she reappeared in the doorway a few minutes later, Bill still lay in the bed, a vaguely apprehensive look on his face.

She rolled her eyes.

"Don't panic," she said. "I haven't decided I should leave Ralph and run off with you."

He raised an eyebrow, but didn't move.

She cocked her head to the side.

"I've had this picture in my mind for a while now," she said, "And I'd like to have a real memory to go with it.

The stared at one another across the room for a long moment, then Pam felt a wide smile spread across her face. In answer, Bill grinned back.

"There," she said, smiling. "That's it. That's it exactly. Now you can get dressed."

--------------

They rode down in the elevator a half hour later. Pam's hair was still wet from the shower.

"I'd ask you to go with me to pick him up," she said, "But…"

"Yeah, no," he said, nodding, "Let's not do that. It would be too…."

"Right," she said.

The elevator chimed and the doors slid open on the ground floor.

They walked out to the parking lot in silence.

He walked her to her Beetle and waited while she fished the keys out of her purse.

"So tell Ralph, Merry Christmas for me," he said.

"I will."

She paused, looking down into her bag. She looked up at him and he cocked an eyebrow.

"Lose your keys?" he said.

"No, I-"

She took a deep breath and reached into her purse.

"This is kind of corny, I know, but…"

She pulled out a square of red silk.

"I found this while I was looking for another shirt for you and…"

She took a breath and pushed the piece of fabric into the pocket of his t-shirt. The corners stuck out in an approximation of a pocket handkerchief.

"For the chivalric Guiomar," she murmured.

He didn't speak, but his eyes were shining as he bent and gave her a long, lingering kiss.

--------------

Pam stood at the arrivals gate waiting for Ralph's plane.

At last the boarding gate doors opened and the first passengers trailed out into the lounge. Soon there were cries of welcome and hugs all around the room.

Ralph was among the last to debark. When his butter-blond curls appeared in the doorway, Pam was gratified to feel a swell of love in her chest.

He grinned and waved, trotting across the space to sweep her up in a fierce hug.

"Oh, I missed you," he said, burying his face in her hair. "Mmm, let's go celebrate Christmas. My place or yours?"

"Yours," she said, "Let's go to yours."

"Sounds good," he said.

He adjusted the strap of his overnight bag and looped an arm around her waist.

"Maybe later tonight we can start working on clearing some space for your things," he said, leading her out into the terminal.

"I'd like that," she said, giving his waist a tight squeeze.

"Oh, how was your evening with Bill?" he said as the stepped out into the tiled breezeway. "Everybody come out unscathed?"

"Um, not exactly," she said and proceeded to give him a slightly edited version of the events at Abrazo.

"Wow," he said when she finished the story. "That was all last night?"

"Uh, huh," she said, pushing open the door to the parking deck.

"That's Bill," he said. "Nothing's ever simple."

"No," she said quietly. "It sure isn't."

--------------

- continued -

**el Tango de Los Angeles **

(Tango of the Angels)


	8. Firulete: Chapter 9

Epilogue and End Notes

_**Firulete **_

An adornment; a decoration; an embellishment: Complicated or syncopated movements which the dancer uses to demonstrate their skill and to interpret the music.

--------------

Pam laughed and turned away as Rhonda and Tony excused themselves to get more wedding cake.

Bill was standing behind her. Sometime during the reception he had slipped away to find a tuxedo shirt to replace the red checked one he'd worn during the ceremony. He now looked oddly presentable in formal black and white.

The only spot of color was the red handkerchief in his jacket pocket. Pam smiled and reached up to adjust the points into a perfect crown shape.

"So," he said, grinning, "You finally pulled it off."

"No thanks to you," she said with a mock scowl. "But I'm too happy to tell you what I think about your timing right now."

"That's a relief," he said. "How's the head?"

"Better," she said, nodding. "If I ever need a hangover remedy again, I'll be glad to know the Tabasco juice, raw egg, and sauerkraut trick. Also if I ever really need to throw up."

"Consider it a bonus wedding present," he said. "So, got a dance free for me?"

"A Tango?" she said, cocking an eyebrow at him.

He grimaced.

"I'm all Tangoed out for a while," he said. "I was thinking a nice easy Rhumba."

"I do a mean Foxtrot," she said, taking his arm as he led her to the dance floor.

They stepped slowly around the floor in an easy waltz that had very little to do with the Rolling Stones song pouring out of the speakers.

Pam leaned close to his ear to be heard over the noise.

"Did you see your tiramisu?" she said.

He nodded.

"It was delicious," he said.

"I'm sorry it wasn't homemade."

He smiled.

"I could say something crass here about how you cook, but…"

He paused and looked down at her.

"Speaking of which," he said, "Did I ever get around to telling you how terrific you were?"

She raised an eyebrow.

"Should I assume you're talking about my skill with firearms, or my french toast, or something else all together?"

He grinned.

"Pretty much all of the above," he said.

She nodded.

"Then same to you, buddy," she said. "Except for the french toast."

They took another languid turn around the floor.

"I've been meaning to ask you something," he said.

"Mnn?"

"How does Ralph like his sweater?" he said.

She tripped over her own feet.

"Whoa, there," he said, catching her in mid-stumble. "I thought you got over that whole falling down thing."

"I haven't had a problem with it lately," she said a little breathlessly, brushing the hair out of her eyes.

She looked up at him. He was glancing down out of the corner of his eye.

"I can't believe I really thought you didn't notice," she said, shaking her head.

"Me neither," he agreed. "Noticing things is kinda part of the job description."

"He likes it," she said at last. "But it's not really the same effect."

"Red's more his color," Bill said.

"Yes."

"Sounds like our dance is just about over," he said as the chorus repeated again.

He looked down at her and his eyes were shining.

"Congratulations, beautiful," he said.

She smiled up at him.

"Thanks, Guiomar."

The music dropped to a few fading notes. They stood apart and looked at one another. The low percussion of a big band beat rumbled across the floor.

Bill grinned.

"Once more around the floor?" he said.

She smiled back.

"I thought you'd never ask."

--------------

- end -

**el Tango de Los Angeles **

(Tango of the Angels)

--------------

NOTES:

---

Tango step definitions from: wwwtejastangocom

---

**GUIOMAR**

_Spanish, Portuguese_

_Pronounced: gee-o-MAHR_

Possibly derived from a Germanic name meaning "famous in battle".

In some versions of Arthurian legend he was the cousin of Guinevere. After becoming a lover of Morgan le Fey he was banished.

------------------

_**Volcada**_

A movement in the Tango. An action by the male partner puts the female off balance resulting in a falling step. If executed properly, the female is held suspended resulting in a beautiful elongated pose. The movement requires the support of a close embrace.

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End file.
